Baller’s Baby(14)

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How the hell am I going to convince her to keep something she doesn't want? Should I? I don’t know what to do anymore. It seems every decision I make is the wrong one.

She tries to sit up, so I help her, pulling her to her feet. Lisa wraps her arms around her—consoling her, congratulating her, I have no fucking clue. Skila reaches for her phone, and I hand it to her. I watch as she puts it to her ear and plays the message for herself. Tears stream down her beautiful face, and my heart cracks open.

I can’t stand here and see this. I can’t watch her heart break because she’s pregnant with my nephew, the one and only thing left in this world that carries a part of my brother in him or her. I turn, and for the first time since meeting her, I walk away.

I don’t make it far before Lisa comes barreling out the door. She looks like a momma cat protecting her young the way she charges me. Her hand snakes out, slapping me across the side of the head.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she yells. Someone down the hall pops their head out the door and watches for a minute before losing interest and going back inside.

“MY PROBLEM?” I scream back at her. I can't believe this shit.

“Yeah, asshole, your problem. I thought you cared about her. I thought you wanted to be with her. What’s wrong? Find out she's knocked up and decide it ain't worth your time?” I swear, if she had been a man in that moment, I would have knocked the shit out of her.

“No one—and I mean no one—talks about her that way. I don't give a fuck if you are her best friend. She deserves better than that,” I yell into her face.

Temporarily stunned, she doesn't reply right away. “Then what the hell are you doing running away?” she asks.

My face is red. I can feel the blood rushing to the surface. “You saw her. She's upset. She's fucking crying. She doesn't want the baby,” I reply.

“Are you kidding me?” she asks, her voice a mixture of shock and incredulity, and for the first time, I wonder if maybe I was wrong.

Maybe I misinterpreted the way Skila was acting, but I saw her reaction. I saw her tears, and for fuck’s sake, she fainted, fucking flat out fainted when I told her. I'm not wrong. I can't be. Lisa isn’t done laying into me yet. I'd like to just walk away, but call me a sucker, because I want to hear what she has to say.

“Men are truly some of the most stupid, pigheaded bastards in the world,” she mumbles to herself, running her hands through her hair and walking in circles, pacing back and forth.

“She was CRYING because her emotions are running wild. How can you even think Skila wouldn't want the baby? Do you know her at all? All she's ever wanted is to be a mother, but the doctors told her she wouldn't ever be able to carry one. She had a bad accident horseback riding several years ago, and the surgery destroyed her insides. Of course she wants the baby.”

Every word she says hits me harder than the last. How many times am I going to fuck up before I learn my lesson, before I stop and think shit through instead of just acting out?

“Fuck.” I have nothing else to say. That one word completely covers it all. I feel like a complete ass. I wish I could rewind time fifteen minutes and do it all over again.

“Yeah, fuck. Now take your sorry ass back in there and try not to fuck up this time.”

Go back? I can’t go back. Can I? Will she even talk to me? I mean—I don't question it anymore, not that I can with her best friend standing here with her hands on her hips. She looks like a pit bull, ready to attack. I walk back into the apartment.

Skila is sitting on the kitchen counter with one hand over her belly, the other still holding onto the phone. She looks lost and afraid, yet the touch on her stomach is light and reverent. She holds her hand against her, almost like she’s afraid to move it, that if she did, the baby would disappear. Walking up to her, I wrap my arms around her and kiss her.

Slowly, she comes back to life in my arms and responds to my touch. I kiss her again and again, apologizing for every mistake I've made and every mistake I’m sure I’ll make in the future. I don't touch her anywhere but her mouth. I don't try to pull her sheet off or run my hands down her body. I just kiss her. Five minutes, twenty, two, I don't know how much time passes before she pulls back and lays her head against my chest.

“I’m going to be a Mommy,” she whispers into my shirt.

“I know, Sky. I know, and I have no doubt you will be fucking amazing, and I hope . . . if you’ll have me, that I’ll get to be a daddy. I know you haven’t known me long at all, and from what I know of you and Camryn, you have no reason to trust any of us Price fools, but I want to do right by you and the baby. I can’t explain why. Even before I knew you were pregnant, I was drawn to you. You’re different, baby. You make me want to be a better person than the mess of a man I have been these last few months—hell, these last few years. I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t know what it is or what to do with it right now, but I want to spend my days by your side trying to figure it out.” She tenses in my arms and lifts her head, searching my eyes for the truth. I gaze back at her and rub my hand against her small baby bump.

“Will you, Sky? Will you let me be this little bugger’s daddy?” I ask her. She nods her head, and the smile that crosses her face steals my breath away. I can’t believe how fucking lucky I am. I lift her, sheet and all, and carry her back to her room, where I spend the next hour making sweet love to her.





Chapter Twenty

Skila



"Hey, where you going?" he asks hoarsely.

"I'm going to make breakfast."

"Ok," he replies, rolling over and pulling the covers above his head.

I search the cabinets, looking for pancake mix and coffee, but I find nothing, so I decide to mix my own.

I think back to how my Nana used to make them. I light the burner and pull some eggs from the refrigerator. The batter is lumpier than I recall, so I stir more vigorously. I can't help but laugh at myself. I've never been the best cook. I pour the batter in the pan and search for a spatula. I turn the pancakes, and the urge to pee hits. I turn down the burner and dash to the bathroom. I finish and open the door, only to be met by billowing smoke as the loud, screeching sound of the smoke alarm reminds me of how badly I suck.

"Well, damn." I mutter, running to the stove, yanking the pan from the burner, and turning on the water.

"Sky? Is everything ok?" Kip asks, running into the kitchen, coughing from smoke inhalation. I figure at this point I have two options. I can either fall into a ball of tears and melt on the spot, or I can suck it up and make the best of an already bad situation. Running toward Kip, I grab his arm and drag him away from the kitchen.

“Run, Kip.” I scream pulling behind me.

“Why are we running?" he yells back at me. I stop in the hallway and open the linen closet door, hiding both of our bodies behind it.

“There’s a fire breathing dragon in the kitchen. Didn’t you see all the smoke? Shh. He’ll hear you,” I say and then rush down the hall. Kip follows closely behind me. When we near the bathroom, my legs are swept out from under me and I’m suddenly lifted in strong arms that cradle me on each side of my body. He makes a turn for the bathroom, and after entering, he kicks the door closed before setting me on the counter.

“What are we doing in the bathroom?”

“Dragons are terrified of water. Didn’t you know?” You’ll be safe in here while I go tame the beast, my lady.”

“Why, thank you, Sir Kip.” He laughs before capturing my lips with his own. I don’t want him to ever stop kissing me, but he pulls away and runs to turn on the shower.

“Stay in your tower, my princess. I will fetch you when the beast is no more.”

“Be safe.”

My shower is amazing. I spend the next ten minutes letting the hot water wash away the remnants of our lovemaking, and then I climb from the warm, steamy room and make my way back to the kitchen. I’m surprised to see that the smoke is cleared away and the kitchen is cleaner than before I started cooking.

“Are you hungry?”

I nod and pull up a bar stool to observe. The way he moves around the kitchen is like a symphony of graceful movements, much like when he’s on the court. "What are you making?" I ask, looking at the various ingredients he's pulled out.

"French toast and dragon bacon. I figured you can't go wrong with bacon,” he replies with a wink. The smoldering remnants and burned smell of my disasters quickly dissipate into the smell of bacon and cinnamon. It’s almost orgasmic, in a sense.

"Where did you learn to cook like that?"

"Well, my grandmother took us in after our parents died, and I was always watching her cook. Nothing was ever simple. She was always experimenting with recipes. After I got to be about fourteen, I started helping and have been cooking ever since."

“It smells wonderful." He smiles, handing me a plate and sitting on the counter next to me.

The first bite is exquisite. "Oh my God," I mutter. "It’s so good."

He smiles and lightly elbows me in the ribs. "What can I say? I'm multitalented.”

I nod and shovel another forkful into my mouth. "Mmm."